


Devil's Advocate

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Background Relationships, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs With Teeth, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Matt comes in swinging. Frank is shockingly receptive.





	Devil's Advocate

**Author's Note:**

> Canon is for rubes, so this follows no real set source compliance. I had fun, and I hope some of y'all will too.

Summers are brutal here, the concrete soaking up heat and baking it off well into the night, so everything swelters, heavy and smothering. It’s worse when a storm brews, taking it’s sweet time forming over the city, smelling of rain that refuses to fall, making the air humid and thick, making all the stenches of the Kitchen stand out sharp to his nose.

If it would just fucking rain, Matt would probably be fine. Matt would, in fact, drop down and thank God Himself right there in the middle of whatever alley or rooftop he happened to be in when it came.

Because rain means a cool down. Rain means a clearing of the air. Rain is renewal, respite, reward for the patience it takes to get to it.

But as it is, the rain is three days hovering over them, the storm heavy with promise but refusing to break, and Matt can’t handle it. The leather of this suit begins to feel like a second skin, clinging unpleasantly to sensitive flesh as he doles out justice to his part of the city. He needs a rest. He needs a fight worth his time.

Maybe that’s why he ends up here, on the rooftop of this construction site, watching Frank as he sets up a shot.

There’s a part of him that knows Frank isn’t who he should be fighting, but it’s the small part of him, the Matt part. The Devil in him thinks nothing could be finer than a one on one all-out brawl with the beast of a man below him.

So he drops, none too quietly, wanting to be heard, to the floor below. Frank’s heartbeat remains steady, but the gun in his hands twitches, and he curses under his breath, the sound like soft thunder, losing his chance at the shot he’s been waiting for.

Frank tries to ignore him, hoping to salvage his plans with a quickly realigned sight, but Matt has other plans, and he needs Frank angry. He kicks the gun out of the Punisher’s hands, sidestepping easily when Frank reaches out for him.

“Alright then, Red,” Frank says, his grave, graveling voice sharp, heated. “What the fuck is your problem now?”

Matt breathes heavily through his nose, blood singing with the need to fight.

“Whatsa matter, Red, cat got yer tongue? You deaf ‘s well as blind now?”

There have been too many uneasy alliances, too many favors owed and received between them. Frank is taking too many liberties. Matt wants to put a stop to that, because the only other options encourage it to continue, to worsen or sweeten, however one wants to look at it. He knows what it feels like to touch Frank, to suture his flesh, to carry him out of a fight; to have his hands on _him_ , returning the favor, keeping him safe, patching him up.

Matt launches at Frank, swinging at his face, his neck, aiming to knock him about the head like nothing else is worth it. Frank, for his part, weaves and ducks, stepping back only when he has too, but does nothing in retaliation but shove Matt back a few steps when it becomes clear that he’s being crowded against a wall.

It’s infuriating, and Matt can’t stand it. Of all the people he’s ever known, Frank is the one most likely to jump into a fight, to come back swinging. But he’s just deflecting, goading Matt for a child, calling him out on his ‘temper fit’.

“You wanna play, you gotta ask nice, Murdock,” he says, batting one fist away and swallowing the other wrist in one huge hand, yanking Matt forward and then past him, sending him stumbling toward the edge of the building. It’s the closest to retaliation Matt has gotten so far, but when he spins around to go after Frank again, he’s back to his duck-and-weave strategy, dancing back and pivoting to the side when Matt gets close.

His heart rate is only up a fraction, and the energy coming off him is more amused than anything. A little annoyed, a little _bored_ , but mostly amused, and Matt hates him for a moment.

Matt knows Frank by now. Knows how he loved and lost his family, what a good husband he’d been. He’s the quintessential red-blooded American Boy: a straight, white, gun-loving, military-worshiping family man. He’s sure to loathe anything that challenges his self image, right? And even if he weren’t so protective of that self image, he always denied himself anything that seemed to threaten interpersonal closeness. Matt had seen it time and again.

If he won’t respond to fists – Matt would normally never do this without permission, but he _needs_ this fight, needs Frank to come back swinging.

He drops his fists and storms toward Frank. And there’s something, something in the sudden spike of adrenaline, in the hitch and then speed-up of Frank’s heartbeat, that Matt likes. Frank’s hands lift to push Matt back and Matt grabs his wrists, using them as leverage to yank Frank closer, slotting their mouths firmly together.

For a moment, everything is very still. Matt can feel Frank’s pulse skyrocket, and braces for pain; in these close quarters, Frank will most definitely hit him, and he doesn’t pull punches. No half measures, after all.

Except when he yanks his arms free of Matt’s hold, they don’t curl into fists – Matt would hear the creak of his gloves, feel the bunch of his muscles. He starts to pull back, ready to jump back into fighting stance, but Frank grabs him, huge hands clinging to him, hot and heavy, yanking him back into a more proper kiss. He feels teeth at his lip, not threatening but teasing, and parts his lips without thinking.

This isn’t how Foggy kisses. Or Karen. In fact, no one has ever kissed him this way, so… efficient and exploratory, so aware of what they’re doing while fully and plainly enjoying themselves. Frank’s tongue finds the gap where he’s lost a premolar to someone’s fist and hasn’t yet been to a dentist to get an implant; he traces the hollow and hums in thought, and Matt finally has to break away.

“What the _hell,_ Frank!” Matt finds himself hissing, prying loose of the hands grasping at him, and Frank, well Frank just laughs that low, rasping chuckle.

“Red, you –” he pauses to clear his throat, probably try and straighten his face, though Matt wouldn’t be able to tell one way or another. “You fuckin’ _started_ , I’m just –”

“You were supposed to _punch me_ , Frank, not – what even – you’re like the _portrait_ of hetronormative masculinity, what the _hell?_ ”

“You ever hear about what it means to assume?” Frank asks, stepping in closer, and Matt can _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his face. “Makes an ass outta you and me?”

Matt scowls, edging back.

“Look, you wanna pick a fight, you come here and expect me to indulge you. Why? Cuz we’re always buttin’ heads, you’re always in my way. But I ain’t a toy, Red; I’m not to be picked up and then dropped when you have your fun. However you wanna have your fun, I ain’t picky. So yeah, you ask for an ass kickin’ and I’ll give it to you. You wanna sweat it out elsewise, well, I’m open for that too, though I gotta ask...”

Suddenly Matt’s pressed against the nearest wall, shit shit _shit_ , and Frank’s just half a step away. “What,” he snaps, trying to regulate his own breathing by the calm, steady rate of the other man’s heart. “You have to ask _what_?”

Frank chuckles again, and speaks softer, his voice a roll of evening thunder, the telling of a storm that just won’t break. “Does Nelson know you’re doin’ this? Karen? I won’t touch you again if you’re just aimin’ to fuck up the good you already got.”

And Matt gapes, shocked that Frank should know he’s in a relationship with Foggy _and_ Karen, more shocked that he’s being accused of trying to _cheat_ on them, to spoil his chances of continued happiness with them. “I – It’s an open relationship, _Frank_ , not that it’s any of your business that it’s even a _thing_.”

“It became my business when you put your lips on me, sweetheart,” Frank says, leaning in, pressing a hand to the wall by Matt’s head. And Matt knows he’s just referencing the kiss, but it sounds so much more filthy the way Frank says it, and Matt thinks that’s on purpose, this is Frank goading _him_. This is Frank trying to rile him up.

He exhales a breath that he refuses to admit shakes even a little. “Remember what you said about _assuming_ ,” he quips. “Karen dates outside our triad all the time.”

“And Nelson?”

Matt presses his lips into a thin line, hating the interrogation not because of the questions but because of the smug, smooth way Frank delivers each one, like he already knows the answers and is simply steering Matt down the logical path.

Fingers brush his jaw, and suddenly they’re breathing the same air, so close Matt can taste the coffee and cigarettes on Frank’s breath. “Is he gonna be jealous, Red? Is he gonna be pissed you come home covered in bruises and smelling like gunpowder, like blood, like the Devil you like to play?”

“No,” Matt finds himself saying, quickly and almost eager. “No, Foggy doesn’t… get jealous.”

Humming thoughtfully, Frank pops his fingers against Matt’s cheek, rough but playful, before returning his hand to Matt’s jaw and turning his head back to face forward. Bringing them closer together.

“Can I kiss you,” he asks, his voice so low it’s almost a threat. Matt knows, instinctively, that all he has to do is say ‘no’ and Frank will back off, let him disappear into the night.

“Yeah,” he says instead, and doesn’t know why. “Yeah, I’d –”

Frank cuts him off with the promised kiss, rougher this time, nipping with sharp teeth until Matt gasps, then delving back into his mouth, tongue filling Matt’s mouth strangely. Matt is more cautious, kissing back, but once he starts, Frank hums in approval, slipping his hand over Matt’s chest, up and around, to the back of his neck, feeling for the cowl’s edge.

“Frank I...”

The answering growl is encouraging, but Matt still hesitates.

“I’m… sorry I kissed you without permission.”

“Aw, choir boy, color me touched,” Frank says, close enough that Matt can feel him smiling. It’s sharp and sweet at the same time. “I suppose you’re lookin’ for forgiveness?”

Licking his lips, forgetting for a moment how close they are, Matt nods silently. The feel of Frank’s stubble when he slides their cheeks together is enough to make him shiver, somehow a perfect sensation to encompass Frank – it’s rough, almost irritating, but there’s a sweetness to it, a taunt in the motion that’s just subtle enough not to fight.

When Frank speaks, his voice is right over Matt’s ear, and Matt feels both grateful for and hateful of the cowl covering his ears, protecting him from the gentle breath against such sensitive skin, dulling the overall effect of having Frank muttering just for him.

“Whatta you want me to tell you to do, Red?” Frank asks, his voice heavy with insinuation as he slips his fingers under the seam of the cowl, teasing at pulling the mask free. “Should you get on yer knees? Right here, fronta God ‘n everyone? Say me a few Hail Marys?”

Swallowing, Matt leans against the wall behind him. Distantly, there is a rumble of thunder, not nearly loud enough to smother his whispered return of, “I think you’d find better use of me on my knees than prayer.”

Frank laughs, just a harsh huff of breath really, and squeezes Matt’s neck. “Good Catholic like you, I’m not sure you’d know what you were doin’.” Another huff of laughter, the slide of stubble against his cheek. A new kiss, warm and welcoming. “Maybe I should teach you somethin’.”

He lands heavily on his knees in front of Matt, the sound of it making Matt wish he wasn’t wearing a cup right now because its starting to be more than a little uncomfortable. Strong, broad hands run up his thighs, encouraging Matt to widen his stance before that crooked nose is nuzzling against the joint of his hip. Matt can hear the rasp of stubble to leather, the soft inhale of Frank’s breath, the steady, heady rhythm of his heart. Nothing else exists for a minute, and then Frank’s unzipping him, pulling the trouser portion of his uniform open and down in a sharp motion.

Underwear, designed to be tight and now clinging to him from the compression of his suit, are jerked down, and off comes the cup, freeing him to the hot night air. Thunder rumbles again, closer this time, and Matt’s heart beats so hard he’s sure it’s echoing in the cavernous concrete hollow they share. And Frank, kissing his thigh and speaking against the flesh, makes note of it, making Matt blush.

“Your heart’s beatin’ so hard, Red,” he says. “You need somethin’?”

Matt swallows, trying to force himself into calm. Frank hasn’t really even touched him yet, but he’s as jumpy as he would be after being held on edge for a few hours. “You always a tease?” He shoots back, trying and failing to sound flippant. Like this is a normal situation, like he’s not completely out of his depth here.

“Maybe I oughta be the one prayin’,” Frank says, and Matt can hear him lift one hand as he settles back on his knees, sketching the sign of the cross. “Bless me, O Lord, and this, Thy _gift_ ,” Matt groans loudly, before biting his lip, shamed by how it turns him on, this bastardized saying of grace, “that I am about to receive from Thy bounty. Amen.” Again the sign of the cross drawn in the air, just as one would after a proper prayer, and then Frank leans forward, big, calloused hands gripping Matt’s hips, and wraps his lips around Matt’s cock.

Almost immediately Matt starts to thrust forward, into the sweltering confines of Frank’s maw, but Frank just holds him still, taking his time. When Matt sinks against the wall, whimpering softly at the expertly applied torture he’s being treated to, Frank follows, taking him down and down, Matt’s cock pressing against the smoothness of his soft palate for a moment, just a moment, before he’s down Frank’s throat.

It doesn’t surprise him that Frank chokes, but his pulse shoots up again, this time guilty as Frank pulls off and coughs off to the side. But before he can ask if Frank’s alright or not, if he wants to stop, Frank’s right back on him, shoving him hard against the wall and swallowing him whole, hollowing his cheeks as he pulls back, making Matt cry out at the sudden enthusiasm the other man showed.

Teeth skate over the underside of his cock, dangerous and breathtaking, and God forgive him, that shouldn’t feel so good, would probably freak him out normally, but this is _Frank_ and he can’t seem to help the fact that he trusts the murderer. His hands, which had been pressed to the warm concrete behind him, come to clutch and skate over Frank’s hair. Encouraging, warning.

“Frank – I – sorry, I’m gonna… oh, _please_ , just like that, _please_ Frank, _please, please_.”

When he comes, he’s buried so deep in Frank’s mouth he wonders if he can even taste him as he swallows, again and again, until Matt’s all but sobbing from over-stimulation.

Frank is courteous, in a rough sort of way, tucking Matt back into his shorts and pulling his trousers back up in quick, efficient jerks. He doesn’t bother trying to refit the cup, but Matt isn’t in much of a place to really think about that.

Rising smoothly, Frank crowds close, kissing Matt slowly, thoroughly, in a way that would be sweet were it not for the way he can’t seem to stop biting. Mixed in with the tastes of tobacco, cheap coffee, the _Frank_ tastes, is the taste of himself on Frank’s tongue, bitter and slick. He wraps his arms around Frank’s shoulder and lets himself be shoved into the wall.

“Needed that, huh?” Frank asks, voice gravelly and slightly strained. Because of Matt, because of what he’d done to Matt, and the knowledge is undeniably sexy. Matt just nods and buries his face into the crook of Frank’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you did,” Frank agrees easily. “Next time, let’s start with the ‘pleases’, insteada waitin’ for the end.”

Matt straightens again and Frank ducks out of his hold. Thunder crashes above them, loud enough now to shake the naked, half-built structure they stand on. The air is livid with the coming storm, and Matt knows intuitively that it’ll be a fierce one. After three days of waiting, it had better be.

“Come home with me?” He offers, listening to Frank, who reeks of arousal and pent up sexual energy, gather his gun and the rest of his kit. “We could… I’d like to...”

“Next time, Red.” Frank says, and it’s the closest to cheerful Matt’s ever heard him. It’s not an act, either, Matt can sense that as easily as he can sense the arousal pouring off the other man. “Start with a please ‘n we’ll see how it goes. Maybe I’ll even let you say a prayer or two for me.”

Clearing his throat, trying not to feel guilty about the one-sided nature of this exchange – Frank’s a grown ass man, he can take care of himself, and if he wants to do so solo, that’s his prerogative – Matt forces himself to smile. “So when’s this next time gonna happen, then?”

“Well, Red, I imagine that’ll be up to you,” Frank says, and he’s staring intently at Matt. “Yeah. You’ll see me when you see me.”

“Frank, you know, we could just –”

“Nah. You’re still waitin’ for that forgiveness, ain’t you? I imagine you’ll find me sooner or later – and we’ll see what you can do to earn it, huh?”

That said, Frank turns away, hefting his bag onto his shoulder and jumping down from the open edge of the building onto the scaffolding, climbing easily down, fading into the noise of the traffic. Matt listens for him, following his steady heartbeat as far as he can, and then sighing.

His feet just barely touch the ground of the construction site, boots digging into loose dirt ad gravel, when the sky opens up, sheets of rain falling heavily over the Kitchen. He hears the clamor of dozens of windows being opened to the freshening air, hears the foot traffic pick up tempo as people rush to get out of the wet, and somewhere, not all that far away, a rough, rumbling chuckle of honest pleasure. He’d never be able to prove it was Frank he’d heard, but he grins anyway, holding the knowledge in his heart.

“Until next time, Frank,” he says aloud, and sets off at a jog toward his apartment.


End file.
